Love Is a Canoe: A Novel

by Schrank, Ben

  Ivan texted back. They would meet in a few hours at Randy’s Shake-It-Up, a new bar near her apartment with awesome deviled eggs. It would be crowded. Or they could just go back to her place and watch a movie on her computer and eat the Thai vegetables and tofu she had leftover from the weekend. Maybe Ivan would be up for that and then later they could have sex. Or maybe not. God, lately she could so take it or leave it and she blamed her depressing job for this since it felt like it was taking over everything. But wasn’t this all her idea? Yeah, better to go for some deviled eggs later, some bubbly drinks made with whiskey, and then passionate sex. Throw away the leftovers. She was still young and deserved to have a good time.

  She looked down at a new text from Ivan:

  Tonight we splish-splash, tomorrow we figure out how to right this sinking canoe.

  Ha. She exhaled as loudly as she could and opened yet another entry.

  Dear Peter,

  If you ask me, and my husband does all the time, I don’t know how to love. Can you teach me how? But I don’t want to come to you with my husband, I want to come to you alone, naked and vulnerable …

  Stella crumpled the letter, tossed it in the air, and slumped back in her seat.

  From Marriage Is a Canoe, Chapter 4, What Is Marriage?

  We were out on the lake most mornings by eight o’clock. Of course Pop and Bess woke up earlier than me each day. When I heard them moving about, I struggled to wake, and man I wanted to get up. I wanted to catch a fish. I loved the rhythm of our days.

  It was just eleven in the morning, on a Friday, at the end of our second week together. We hadn’t caught anything and it was hot. We could hear Roger Miller singing “In the Summertime You Don’t Want My Love” on a workman’s radio, far across the lake. I had on my Yankees hat. I remember taking it off and using it to wipe the sweat from my brow.

  “Want to eat now, Peter? It’s early but I can see you’re hungry.”

  “You bet I am.”

  Pop unpacked the wax paper–wrapped sandwiches Bess made for us. There was olive loaf and Muenster cheese cut thick, which Pop bought from his friend Jake Duncan who ran the deli counter at the A&P in town. There were bright green leaves of Bibb lettuce pulled from the garden the previous evening, and dense slices of sourdough bread that Bess baked herself every few days, all smeared with the tomato jam that Pop and Bess had made together in the kitchen on the morning of the Fourth of July before we all went into town to buy sparklers.

  He said, “We had your mother on the telephone last night. Did you hear us?”

  “Nope,” I said. “I must’ve been reading King Arthur. Or I was already sleeping. How’s she doing?”

  “She’ll be okay.” He frowned and looked down the length of the lake, toward that tinny music.

  “Pop?”

  “Yes, Peter?”

  “What do you think happened between my mom and dad?”

  Pop wiped his mouth with a blue cotton bandana he kept in his hip pocket. He rocked his head left and right on his shoulders, to the point where I worried he was hurting himself.

  “This’ll be tough to hear. But your parents, well, they just about shat all over their marriage is what they did.”

  I tried not to gasp. I’d never heard him curse before and that word, shat, so formal and yet a curse word nonetheless, slithered up and slapped me harder than any person ever had.

  “All that arguing? And none of the tenderness and loving that marriage needs. Bess and I could see it from up here. It burns me, I’ll tell you.”

  “Why?”

  “We brought up your mother as best we could and I’m goddamned if she paid attention for a single moment because—” I watched him stop himself.

  “Because what?”

  “Because none of this would have happened if she had just listened!”

  “That’s not fair!” I yelled. I drew my knees to my forehead and brought my arms around my head so I could see nothing but the dark bottom of that canoe and my sneakers, so I couldn’t feel the shaking that came from my crying, or the words ringing in my ears.

  “Okay, now. You’re right. That wasn’t fair. I apologize. Don’t tell Bess I spoke that way. She wouldn’t like it.”

  We stayed quiet. The lake surrounded us and it was as if it were whispering, Quiet, be quiet. It’ll take a while to heal.

  “Why didn’t my mom listen?”

  “Because she was drunk a lot of the time and the rest of the time she was ashamed of it. At least she recognized that you might be a bit of a storyteller and in this way you’re like Bess and me. I’ll shut my big mouth now.”

  I raised my head. I said, “Come on, Pop. What’s one thing you wanted her to know?”

  “It’s just a simple thing.”

  “All right. Tell me and I’ll remember it.”

  “No you won’t.”

  “C’mon. Please, Pop?”

  He raised his eyebrows and held one finger up to that hot blue-and-white sky and said, “In locus marriage. When we are together, be with me. Know that even when it isn’t perfect, it is sacred. Never let the locus of the marriage erode. It is a sacred ground and you must always celebrate it and be grateful that you may live your life upon it. Be tough about this! Adhere to it.”

  “But she’s not tough, Pop.”

  “I know. It’s not her fault. They went bad together. It hurts, but it’s not anybody’s fault. But you can remember what I said, can’t you? Save it inside for one day when you grow up and get married. You’re a city boy and you’re tough.”

  “Yes,” I said. I understood that he was desperate, that my Pop needed to believe that in my life I would do what his daughter could not in hers. “I’ll remember.”

  Your marriage is sacred.

  When you are together, be with each other.

  Emily, October 2011

  “I didn’t say I agreed with Mom,” Sherry said.

  “You sure are saying that! You’re acting like it.”

  “Well…” Sherry frowned. They were in Emily’s living room. It was Monday evening. Sherry was curled up on a red suede club chair that Eli had gotten from a furniture maker in Bushwick in a trade for a bicycle, partly to surprise Emily, he’d said. She didn’t like it as much as he did.

  “You look good in that chair, Sherry. You look sexy,” Emily said.

  “I told you I’d take it off your hands if you can get someone to deliver it,” Sherry said. “It’s kind of unusual that Mom would say this is a fixable problem, you know? I guess I do agree with her.”

  “I was surprised at how clear she was about it,” Emily said.

  “When’s he coming home?”

  “Probably in an hour.” Emily stretched farther out on the couch, put her hands behind her head, looked at the ceiling.

  The lights were low and they were listening to a new National record, because Emily had dated the lead singer before he got married and she still got their albums early. Most National songs and much of the rest of the music Sherry liked sounded the same to Emily, but she never admitted it. They were drinking red wine. A few minutes earlier they’d finished picking over steak taco salads they’d had delivered from Oaxaca on Smith Street.

  Eli was up in the Bronx, helping pack a dozen bikes bound for a shop in Austin.

  “Mom was great, actually. She told me a story about when Dad started giving this hot paralegal rides home from work and she said this has to stop, and it did. I mean, Dad stopped messing with the paralegal. It was the same thing. A little tiny affair early in their marriage and they made it go away.”

  “Really?” Sherry asked. She dragged out the word.

  “Yeah, this was before Dad quit drinking. It’s amazing he never smashed up a car.”

  “He had plenty of accidents.”

  “I don’t know why they got married. They are so completely different. But the point is, Mom said she believes in me and Eli. She never told me that before.”

  “She wants you to have kids.” Sherry tilted her h
ead to one side. “I want you to have kids.”

  “And I’m with you both on that. Now is supposed to be the time for us to start. I’m thirty-three.”

  “True,” Sherry said. “Mom never told me that story. I thought we heard every one of the ugly ones nine times at least.”

  “If you’re lucky, she’ll never have to tell it to you.”

  “It’s not like I don’t want to get married. I do,” Sherry said. “And now? You go back to normal?”

  Emily appraised her younger sister. Sherry’s hair was swept back. She had on red lipstick and a dark red vintage Mayle dress that they’d bought together at a sample sale. Soon, Sherry had to go meet her producer friend at Black Light Basement, a new lounge across the street from where Don Hill’s used to be, on the far west side of Manhattan. She was in no rush to get married.

  “We try to fix it,” Emily said. She reached out for more wine. “We keep being sweet and romantic and we rebuild trust. Maybe we should come with you later,” she said. “Like a double date.”

  “It’s not that kind of date,” Sherry said with a laugh.

  “You believe Eli can change? You think he’ll never do it again?”

  “Mom and Dad didn’t break up because he cheated that one time. Wasn’t that Mom’s point?”

  “I don’t think she’d say I should stay with him just so she can have grandkids.”

  “Do you still feel sexy with him?”

  “Are we still having sex? Yes, totally. I touched his shoulder this morning and then we got into this intense sex. We’re doing it constantly.”

  “And it’s good?”

  “It’s makeup sex. But yes.” Emily drank some wine. “I know you said you agree with her, but do you think Mom is actually wrong and I’m being crazy?” she asked.

  “Not at all! I definitely hate seeing you be sad. You want so much, Emily. I think that’s good. But it makes it hard to, like, live up to what you want. Not that I’m taking his side.”

  “I want too much? Wait, what do you mean? Are you defending him?”

  “Absolutely not. But you can be a little controlling. At the same time you deserve everything you want. You know that’s what I mean.” Sherry stood up and looked at herself in the mirror over the mantel. “It’s just that maybe he was warning you—to give him a little room, you know?”

  “Sherry, you sound repulsive right now.”

  “I know. But he’s a big guy. He needs a big world to play in. What comes with being shy is that you’re a little interior. You can be rather unto yourself, if that makes sense.” Sherry continued to stare at herself in the mirror. She said, “I talked to Mom about this part. We touched on that idea. You control stuff better than either of us does. But Eli is hard to control.”

  “So you and Mom talked and totally psychoanalyzed the whole thing and that’s where you got to, that I’m controlling. I’m the victim but you two think I’m controlling.” Emily sat up.

  “It’s not like that and you know it.” Sherry rolled her eyes.

  Emily looked up at her bookshelf and saw Canoe. She went over and pulled it out and said, “Remember this book?”

  Sherry turned around and looked at the book in Emily’s hands. “What about it?”

  “Marriage Is a Canoe. This is the copy you sent me from L.A., a few years back.”

  “You’ve been reading it?”

  “It’s like chicken soup.”

  “I heard something just recently about that book … I don’t remember what. Anyway, don’t be ridiculous, Emily. Couples therapy, maybe. But not some stupid book. I sent it as a joke. Because I remembered how into it you were when I was, like, nine.” Sherry looked at herself again in the mirror above the mantel. She said, “If I knew you valued the presents I gave you that much, I’d give you more of them.”

  “How about you give me the present of understanding for one second how serious this is.”

  “Then why are you bringing up a bullshit self-help book?”

  “Because the book is actually thoughtful about relationships. Mom isn’t. I mean, that’s nice that you talked to her, but Mom is an emotional coward and you know it. Let’s pray neither of us ends up like her. If I stay with Eli, it’ll be because I actually went in and dealt with our problem. Like she didn’t do, ultimately, with Dad.”

  “Emily, I love you. I hear you,” Sherry said. She had her phone in her hand.

  “And now you’re leaving.” Emily sat down, hard, on the couch. “I think the truthful thing that you’re not saying is that you’d walk out on Eli if this happened to you.”

  “But that’s not necessarily the right thing to do. We’re different. Don’t be mad at me,” Sherry said, after she called a cab.

  Eli came home twenty minutes after Sherry left. He rang the buzzer because he’d forgotten his keys and so she had to get the door for him. In the doorway, he hugged her and stared into her eyes the way he did every night now. She’d begun to notice that when he did this, when he aggressively focused on her, she felt less lonely than usual. She had learned not to mind feeling lonely. Her work forced her to be alone, writing, much of the time. But now that Eli paid so much attention to her when they were together, she had begun to realize what a welcome change it was from all that solitude.

  Eli said, “Before I say anything else, I have to let you know that we’re going to go even further than what we originally planned. I conferenced with Rick and Steven and the best thing for the two businesses is for UBA to spin off entirely. It just makes sense. I don’t want to be in the nonprofit business. UBA will be entirely L.A.-based.”

  Emily nodded. Eli had learned not to say Jenny’s name. He dropped his bag by the front door and said, “What’ve you been up to?”

  “Sherry was here.”

  “She leave to go somewhere fun?”

  “Exactly.” Emily began to laugh. Eli came closer. He smelled of clean sweat and she felt herself cave in to him. And then he went off to shower and she stayed where she was, by their kitchen island. She leaned up against the island’s lip, because sometimes her back hurt and she found that the leaning made her feel better. Within minutes he returned in boxer shorts and a blue T-shirt that had the Roman Street logo.

  “What about that trip to Mexico City?” he asked.

  They had planned to go sometime late in the winter or in early spring. Mexico City was a good idea because there was a lot of demand for his bicycles there. And Emily could walk and learn the city. She knew she would love it there.

  “Come and kiss me,” Emily said.

  “We can plan that trip?”

  “You come here. I’m helping my back right now.”

  Eli reached out and pressed her breastbone with the flat of his palm. “We’ll fix you.”

  “It’s my back that hurts. You’re free to massage it.”

  “Sorry!” He laughed and turned her around and began to massage her back.

  She said, “You should only keep doing that if you want to.”

  “I do,” Eli said.

  She let her head roll back, suddenly impressed with her insight. She was not so directional, was she? No, she didn’t think she was. Maybe she was growing more emotionally intelligent, which would be a consolation, especially if they came out of this and ended up happier than they had been before he had strayed. She had begun to imagine that was possible.

  “Hey, hey Emily,” Eli said. “Are you reading my mind?”

  “No. But that feels good.”

  She wanted him to want her but she did not want to give in to him so easily. She knew she smelled good to him, that he loved to nuzzle her neck and slip his hands inside her lacy wireless bra. And now he did that. She closed her eyes and then opened them again, just to peek at him, to see what he was really up to, since she didn’t 1,000 percent trust him, not yet. His eyes were closed and he was kissing her neck and chest and shoulders.

  She found herself thinking back to when she’d met him, to those first few months. She began to insert a momen
t into way back then, a memory of thinking, When we’re married, girls might throw themselves at him and if I’m going to keep him I’m going to have to put up with him cheating. It might happen one or two times. Can I take that?

  She looked back at the self that had fallen in love with him and said, Okay, okay, if he can make me this happy, I can forgive him. I admit that I am happy he is mine. But we’ve got to get control of this thing. We are going to have to do the thing where we really work on our marriage.

  Peter, October 2011

  “Given that Belinda is a lesbian who has shared no desire to raise children with you, wanting to live near her in order to visit children she does not yet have is not a concern I feel I should address,” Maddie said as she and Peter walked into the Sally Forth dining room. “Though I do not understand why you keep us apart. She sounds very smart and kind.”

  “I only said she might have kids,” Peter said.

  “Yes. She might. But Anjulee is having a child now. And so moving closer to her before the end of the year is necessary, at least for me.”

  “And I promised I would do just that.”

  “Yes.” Maddie seemed to be speaking to herself. “You did.”

  Henry was seated at the table nearest to the fireplace. He waved to them. It was just after three on a Wednesday afternoon.

  “Hello, you two,” Henry called out. “Maddie, you look incredible, as usual.”

  Peter glanced at Maddie and she did look good, in form-fitting khakis and driving moccasins, purple shawl thrown over her shoulders, on top of a dark sweater.

  “Back in a moment.” Peter went off to the men’s room. His prostate was becoming an issue. But he wasn’t eager for a visit to his doctor. Part of what had gone wrong with Lisa was one too many visits to the doctor.